


Call Me Maybe

by Fitz



Series: Winchesters vs. Immortals [2]
Category: Highlander: The Series, Supernatural
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Dean Needs A Hug, Gen, Major Character Death is Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 13:23:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11014317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fitz/pseuds/Fitz
Summary: Clearly the concept of friendship for the sake of it was a foreign thing to Dean. But Joe was friends with people who outlived entire civilizations. He was pretty sure he could manage befriending a young Hunter.(Second in the Winchesters vs. Immortals series. Will make more sense if Hell Hath No Fury is read first, but probably could be read as a standalone.)





	Call Me Maybe

_A Series of Phone Calls_

February 2003

It was a slow night. Wednesdays usually were. Top it with the heavy rain that had plagued the city these past few days, and there was almost no one. Charlie manned the bar, and Joe manned the books. It was not a pleasant task, but it kept the tavern open, and someone had to do it. As the official owner, that task fell to Joe.

He heard his phone ringing and recalled that he had left it on the counter. With his legs, by the time he reached the front, the phone would have stopped ringing, so Joe did not bother trying to hurry. If it was important, the caller would leave a message.

As luck would have it, Charlie caught the call before it went to voicemail. He came back to the office with the phone in hand.

“Some guy calling for you,” Charlie said in vague explanation.

“Thanks,” Joe accepted the phone and answered. “Yeah?”

_“Joe?”_

It took a moment to place the voice, but when he made the connection, Joe felt himself grinning broadly. He spun in his chair, putting his back to the financial paperwork. That would wait.

“Dean!” he greeted jovially. “How are you?”

 _“Hey, Joe,”_ the kid’s low chuckle drifted across the connection. _“I’m good. You?”_

“Well, you know…” Charlie had closed the office door. Joe knew there was a reason he had hired that kid. “Babysitting a couple of Immortals can be kind of exhausting, but things have been pretty quiet lately. And you? How’s your daddy?”

 _“He’s down in Missouri tracking a werewolf,”_ Dean replied. _“I was supposed to join him tomorrow, but my car’s buried in a snow bank. North Dakota winters suck, man.”_

“It’s been nothing but torrential downpour here,” Joe remarked. He could not help but grin smugly. “So you’re calling because you’re bored?”

 _“Dude, am I that transparent?”_ Dean complained. _“Well, I tried calling Sam, but he’s too busy to ever answer his phone.”_

“Kid, you need some more friends your age.”

 _“According to the records, both Mac and Adam aren’t_ that _much older. And seriously, Joe? Who comes up with this crap? Duncan MacLeod’s father: Duncan MacLeod? Should I start calling MacLeod ‘Junior’?”_

“Someone gave you access to a computer,” Joe accused. He should have expected it, but that did not make it any less amusing. “You need a hobby.”

 _“I’m a Hunter,”_ Dean retorted. _“I don’t get paid—I put whatever money I have into it—some might call it a glorified hobby.”_

“How about a hobby that doesn’t try to kill you?”

_“Hustling pool count? Or drinking. I’ve got to stop back just to have your whiskey. It was awesome.”_

Joe rolled his eyes. He had heard some of this from Adam, a little bit from MacLeod. Hell, meeting the kid’s father had done wonders for describing how dysfunctional this particular young man was.

“How about a girlfriend, Dean?” he challenged. “You’re good looking and charming. You should have them lining up to go out with you.”

There was a pause after that, and Joe wondered if he was going to be receiving a list. Dean had seemed the one-night-stand type.

 _“Been kind of busy for that, Joe,”_ was the quiet reply instead. Joe was quiet, memory taking him to an afternoon spent watching a pretty girl slowly morph into an equally attractive young man. Dean did not let him think about it for long, though. _“Hey, Joe! Tell me what’s been going on over there. I’m stuck in a room without cable TV, and I’m running out of alcohol. Entertain me here, man!”_

Smirking to himself, Joe leaned back in his chair, dragging his mind to the past couple of weeks. Adam was out of town for a conference, but MacLeod had gotten into some trouble.

“Heh.” It got him chuckling just thinking about it. “You wouldn’t think it, but MacLeod’s really not that great with dogs.”

It was good hearing Dean laugh. He had the feeling the kid didn’t do it nearly enough. Joe spent the next hour telling as many funny stories as he could come up with.

* * *

 

April 2003

 

It had to be one of the shortest conversations Joe had ever had. Joe had made the call on a whim. He didn’t even have anything in mind to say. The only thing that really prompted it was the sudden realization that he had not heard from Dean in over two months. So, one Monday night, when he was done with updating his Watcher Chronicle and too awake to sleep (bar hours, man, they were killer), he scrolled through his contacts, saw the name, and connected. It was late, but Dean seemed like a night person.

The phone rang twice before someone answered. It sounded like Dean, but his voice was hushed and panicked and kind of angry. And he wasn’t talking to Joe at first.

 _“Shit! Hey! Watch it!”_ A lot of clattering, some more swearing, grunting, and a heartfelt, _“Fuck!”_

Obviously, Joe had interrupted something. He was kind of hoping it did not involve sex. That was always embarrassing.

 _“Get the damn phone!”_ That was a man, but it was not Dean. Actually, Joe was not sure who that was.

There was a lot of static and jumbled noises, and then a moment of silence. Heavy breathing. It was Dean.

_“Later.”_

Joe did not get an opportunity to speak. Dean hung up, and the call was over. Confused and a little concerned, Joe set his phone aside.

Dean and some unknown guy. Now Joe _really_ hoped it did not involve sex. Dean was a good kid, but there were some mental images Joe just did not need.

* * *

July 2003

 

The next time Joe called Dean, it was because Adam had run into some trouble in a servant house in unpronounceable rural town in Austria. An angry call via satellite phone later, Joe was laughing and promising to get a little professional advice.

Dean actually answered this time, though he did not sound happy.

_“Mmph… ‘lo?”_

Joe glanced at the clock. One in the afternoon. He had figured he was safe no matter where in the country Dean was. Even on the east coast it would only be four. Smack in the middle of the day, and Dean was sleeping?

“Hey, Dean,” he greeted. “Did I wake you?”

 _“…Who—Joe?”_ Kid sounded disoriented and exhausted. Joe had definitely caught him in the midst of a mid-afternoon nap. Whoops. _“Yeah, sorry… I mean, it’s fine. What’s up?”_

“You sound terrible.” He really did. Dean’s voice, normally husky and fairly deep, sounded hoarse and strained. “What’s wrong?”

 _“It’s okay,”_ Dean mumbled. _“Just the flu. Reason you called, Joe? Or should I hang up and go back to sleep?”_

He almost told Dean to do exactly that, but then Joe recalled there was a reason he called, and he figured he should hurry. Adam had already died once, and the Immortal was not keen on doing it again soon.

“Adam thinks he’s got a haunting,” Joe said. “Servants quarters in one of his friend’s homes in Austria.”

 _“…Seriously?”_ Dean sounded dubious. _“Austria, man… I’m not sure I can get to him to help, and I don’t know anyone in_ Austria _.”_

“Adam can handle himself just fine,” Joe said quickly. “You tell me how to get rid of the ghost, and I’ll tell him.”

_“He’s sure it’s a ghost?”_

“Flickering lights, cold spots in the house, and Adam saw an apparition just before it sent a butcher knife flying into his heart.”

_“Crap! Is he okay?”_

“Adam? Yeah, he’s fine,” Joe grinned. “Pissed off, mostly. Blood stains are a bitch to get out of hardwood floors.”

Dean laughed at that. A second later he was coughing, and Joe winced sympathetically at the dry hacking.

“Jeez. You okay?”

 _“Sounds worse than it is,”_ Dean assured him. _“I think I might even be able to eat again soon. It’s awesome.”_

“Right…”

 _“That’s got ghost written all over it,”_ Dean declared. _“Tell Adam he needs to do some research. Find out who died in that house. Violent or sudden, unexpected deaths are typical. If he can get hold of some pictures—you said he saw the ghost?”_

“That’s what he said,” Joe was already writing it down. “So he should find out who the ghost is? Then what?”

 _“Then he needs to find the body,”_ Dean said bluntly. _“Find the body, then salt and burn it.”_

Joe stopped writing. He stared blankly at the paper where he had gotten _find the body_ down, and wondered what kind of craziness he had gotten himself into.

“He needs to what?” he asked, just to be sure he had heard that right. Dean was sick after all. Maybe delirious. He could be giving him bad information.

 _“It’s gross, but that’s usually what it takes,”_ Dean said. _“If he’s got to dig up bones, I recommend doing it at night. Oh, and he should bring extra salt—salt is pure, and it’s great defense against spirits. Solid iron too. Like a fireplace poker or a crowbar. It interferes with the spirit’s energy. Makes them disappear for a while. Hopefully long enough for him to get the hell out or finish burning the remains.”_

“What does burning the remains accomplish?” Joe demanded. He was not going to send Adam out to desecrate a grave for no good reason.

 _“Kills the ghost,”_ Dean said frankly. _“No remains, nothing to anchor it here. It moves on.”_

“To where?” Joe asked.

 _“…You’re asking the wrong guy,”_ Dean sighed, sounding tired. _“Heaven? Hell? Back to the ground maybe. Whatever. As long as it’s not hurting anyone anymore.”_

Obviously Dean was not a religious man. Interesting, considering his chosen profession.

“What else?”

 _“That’s it,”_ Dean said. _“One ghost extermination. I’m betting Adam knows how to cover his tracks, but if not, just make sure he knows—if he has to dig up a grave, he should be nice and fill it in again. Makes for fewer questions. Less chance of it getting back to him. Hey… anything else?”_

“Nah,” Joe smiled. Dean couldn’t see it, but he always knew emotions came through better over a phone when you let them flow freely through your body. “Get some sleep. But Dean?”

_“Mm?”_

“Last time I called, you hung up on me and didn’t call back. That was just rude, you know.”

_“…When did you call?”_

“I dunno. March, maybe?”

_“…Oh. Um. Sorry?”_

“You don’t remember, do you?”

_“Ah… no.”_

Joe laughed and shook his head. Dean sounded far too weary for this conversation let alone an argument over proper manners.

“Never mind, kid. Get some rest.”

_“Yeah. Later, Joe.”_

“Good night, Dean.”

It was not until much later that Joe had to wonder who in the hell got the flu in the middle of July?

* * *

 

January 1, 2004

 

Where did the time go? Joe could hardly believe it was the twenty-first century, let alone the fourth year of it. Then again, time moved even when he wasn’t. Things had been quiet on the Immortal front, even with MacLeod in town. MacLeod paired with Adam seemed a lethal combination, but neither man had been challenged recently. In fact, Joe was pretty sure there had not been another Immortal in town in well over a year.

New Year’s Eve had been fun, but Joe was sure he was getting too old for this stuff. The drinking, the late nights, heavy partying. Yeah. Definitely too old. He was just grateful he had a couple employees he trusted enough to close down the bar. Joe figured if Adam and MacLeod could call it time for quits, then he was entitled to the same.

He didn’t even have the Immortality to keep him going.

Calling Dean seemed the most natural thing in the world just then. One o’clock on the first of the year—surely the kid would be awake. Joe connected without a second thought.

Dean answered on the third ring.

_“Joe? What’s wrong?”_

“It’s good to hear from you too,” Joe said. It was hard not to be taken aback by that response. After all, it was not as though he only called if he needed something. Last time he had, but the time before that… okay, so Dean had not known it was him for some reason. “Did I call at a bad time?”

 _“What? I mean, no, it’s fine,”_ Dean sounded flustered. Joe frowned, wondering what the hell was happening here. _“What can I do for you, man?”_

There he went, assuming Joe was calling because he wanted something. What kind of friends did Dean have anyway if that was his first thought?

“I hadn’t heard from you in a while,” he said mildly. “Thought I’d call and wish you a happy new year.”

 _“Is it really?”_ Dean actually sounded surprised. _“I’ll be damned. I probably missed all the good parties too.”_

Joe shook his head in disbelief.

“I can’t believe you didn’t know it was New Year’s,” he protested.

 _“Just a number on the calendar, Joe,”_ Dean replied mildly. _“The real ones I watch for are the solstices. All sorts of crazy shit happens then.”_

“I suppose you missed Christmas too,” Joe grumbled.

_“Did you need something, Joe?”_

Damn. He wasn’t trying to get on the kid’s bad side. And he really did not know why Dean was so certain he wanted something.

“I hadn’t heard from you in a while,” he said carefully. “You know, I meant it when I said you should keep in contact. Last time _you_ called was in February. And I’m pretty sure you did that on accident.”

It took a long time for Dean to respond to that one. It was a rebuke, plain and simple, and Joe felt bad for doing it, but he wasn’t going to keep calling if Dean didn’t want to hear from him. He was not Adam. Hell, he had spent less time with the kid than _MacLeod_ had. But, damn it, he had thought of Dean as a friend!

_“People say that a lot, Joe. No one really means it.”_

Well damn. If Joe ever encountered John Winchester again, he was going to give that man a piece of his mind. Why would anyone let that kind of thought process linger in a young man well into his twenties? After all, Dean had to be pushing twenty-five now.

“Well I do,” Joe said sharply. “I called you a couple times last year, and only once was it because I needed advice.”

_“Yeah? When the hell did you call me?”_

Seriously? That might explain a few things. Come to think of it, the last time he had spoken to Dean, the kid had been pretty sick. Still, he had sounded fairly coherent.

“You have got to be kidding me!” he complained. “First time I called, you hung up after saying you’d call later. You didn’t, by the way. And last time you were pretty sick sounding, but you said it wasn’t that bad.”

 _“…You called in July?”_ Dean asked quietly.

“You had the flu. In July.”

 _“Ah… yeah, it wasn’t the flu.”_ Now the kid sounded sheepish. _“I don’t remember much about that, but no one told me you called.”_

“I talked to you, kid,” Joe said, suddenly rather horrified. If Dean had been completely delirious during that conversation, then it was only through some miracle that the information he had provided had been viable. Jesus. Adam was lucky all that crap worked! “You told me how to get rid of a ghost.”

 _“I thought I’d dreamed that,”_ Dean admitted. _“How’d it go? Adam okay?”_

“He bitched about having to dig up actual dead bodies for about a month,” Joe said with a smile. “But he’s fine.”

 _“As opposed to people buried alive?”_ Dean asked, sounding horrified.

“It happens sometimes with Immortals,” Joe replied. “It happens less nowadays. Before refrigeration, the dead were buried quickly. Before the Immortal had a chance to revive. Sometimes they had to wait until another Immortal discovered them.”

 _“Holy shit,”_ Dean swore. _“Didn’t they run out of air?”_

“You’ll have to ask Adam or MacLeod that one,” Joe said, deflecting the gruesome question. The truth was yes, they did run out of air. Then they would smother and die. Until they revived, only to smother and die again. If they were lucky, they would be found swiftly. If not, then this cycle would continue until they were found. Joe knew of at least one Immortal who had spent years under the dirt, caught in a perpetual cycle of reviving and dying until it had driven him mad. The Immortal who had pulled him out had been forced to kill him almost immediately. Considering what Joe knew about Dean, he was not keen on passing this information out. “So you really thought I hadn’t called in over a year?”

 _“…Wouldn’t be the first time,”_ Dean said uncomfortably. _“Besides. I tried calling you sometime back, and you never returned that call either.”_

“If that was in March, there was about a week where someone jacked my number,” Joe said. And hadn’t that been a pain to work with. Someone had intercepted his Watcher number and was diverting through a dummy connection. It had taken Joe about three days to realize something was wrong, that his phone had been awfully silent. It took another three days just to get the kind of clearance he needed to track the hacker and put a stop to it. He had not been able to retrieve any messages in that time.

 _“Oh… I just figured you didn’t want to talk to me,”_ Dean mumbled. He blustered on, sounding way too cheerful, _“So uh… Happy New Year, then?”_

Joe chuckled ruefully.

“Yeah, kid. Happy New Year.”

_“Well, Joe… it’s almost three in the morning here, and I’m frigging wiped. It was good hearing from you.”_

If that wasn’t a deflection, Joe did not know what was. He figured he could let it slide this time.

“Sure, Dean. Don’t be a stranger.”

 _“Yeah, yeah. Call just to_ chat _. Next time, Joe? Call during the day. Most calls made after midnight are emergencies, even for me.”_

“Duly noted,” Joe agreed cheerily. “Good night.”

_“Uh, sure. Yeah. ‘Night.”_

Joe smiled warmly. Damn kid. It was like dealing with a young Adam. Good at getting by but completely oblivious to the fact that everyone around him cared. Joe hoped time would cure Dean of that, but it was hard to say. Five thousand years had done nothing to teach Adam.

* * *

May 2004

 

Joe was used to hearing from Dean now. Kid usually called every few weeks, and he returned the favor by calling back just as frequently. Occasionally MacLeod or Adam was around, and then the conversation never seemed to end. Especially with Adam. Joe was not sure how it happened—usually MacLeod was the one to pick up strays—but Adam and Dean had become fast friends despite their rocky introduction. Whenever Adam was on the line with Dean there was laughter enough that they could hear it even without the benefit of their ear being to the phone.

So when his phone rang up with Dean’s number one night while he was working on the books of his tavern, he was not surprised. He just dropped his calculator and picked up the phone, glad for the distraction.

 “Dean!” he greeted cheerily.

 _“Hey, Joe,”_ Dean’s response, while friendly, was not nearly as jovial. _“Sorry to bother you, but I’ve got a problem. Dad said you might know how to help me.”_

“I know your daddy isn’t one for the talk, but I was certain you’d know about the birds and the bees by now,” Joe said. Joking aside, he was concerned. There was only one reason he would think John Winchester would forward his son to Joe. Or more probably, Adam.

 _“Hah-freakin’-hah,”_ Dean growled. _“Seriously, man. I’ve been tracking dead bodies up the coast. It’s heading your way, so you might want to hear me out on this.”_

Joe sobered. It was not quite as bad as he initially feared. Serial killers. MacLeod was good at neutralizing those. With Adam’s help, he was incredible.

“What’ve you got?”

 _“Four dead bodies,”_ Dean explained. _“Heads cut off. I thought it was a demon—there’s some weird weather patterns too—but there’s usually more to demon attacks than this.”_

“Weather patterns… you mean freak lightning storms?” Joe predicted. He already had the computer booting up the Watcher files. If there was a dangerous Immortal coming toward them, he wanted to know.

 _“Exactly,”_ Dean sounded relieved. _“What am I chasing, Joe?”_

“I hate to break it to you, Dean, but this isn’t one of yours,” Joe narrowed in on the location and frowned at the names popping up. Duncan MacLeod and Adam Pierson, of course. A few others. And then Percival Von Haus. Stupid name, bad temper. This guy was out to make a name for himself (a better one, they presumed), and he was doing it in an attention-grabbing manner. “It’s an Immortal.”

 _“You’ve got to be kidding me,”_ Dean griped. _“Joe!”_

“We didn’t tell you before because you really didn’t need to know with everything else that was going on, but I’ll tell you now,” Joe sighed. “There’s a way to kill Immortals. Naturally they don’t like to advertise this, but it’s possible. If another Immortal takes their head, then they die. The lightning storm? It’s called a Quickening. It transfers to the winner of the battle. It’s a hell of a light show.”

He paused, but Dean was not immediately forthcoming. All he could hear was the rumbling of the car in the background. A small part of him scolded Dean for driving and talking on his cell phone at the same time. It was dangerous after all.

“They call it the Game,” he continued. “‘There can be only one.’ It’s dwindled a bit this past decade. A lot of them are pretty aware of how ridiculous the notion of last-man-standing battling is. But a lot of them won’t give it up. It’s why you won’t usually find more than one Immortal in town. As you can imagine, they don’t trust each other too easily.”

_“That why Cassandra’s such a bitch?”_

“That’s another story entirely,” Joe laughed. “But the point is, we’re warned. I think I know who it is—we keep tabs. I’ll give Adam and MacLeod the heads up. We’ll take care of this one.”

 _“You’re telling me to back off,”_ Dean predicted. _“So what happens if some ordinary guy comes along and cuts off the head of an Immortal?”_

“Then you have a full race of people pissed at you over a loss of several lifetimes of knowledge,” Joe said bluntly. Actually, he had no idea what would happen if a _pre_ -Immortal would suddenly participate in the Game. As far as he was aware, nothing, but he really did not want to tempt fate. “It’s Immortal business, Dean. They do their own hedge trimming.”

Adam’s words, not his, but it was a good line.

 _“Okay, Joe,”_ Dean said, not sounding happy about backing down. _“But if there’s another slew of murders, or Mac or Adam winds up dead, I’ll be in town, and I won’t be happy.”_

“I’ll call you when it’s over,” Joe promised.

_“You’d better.”_

Joe disconnected, then quickly called MacLeod. It might be interference, but he had made Dean a promise after all. He had a feeling the kid would make good on his threat otherwise.

* * *

 

December 2004

 

The New Year’s party had come around again. Joe was working the bar—had coerced Adam into helping—and was generally having a good time watching his favorite customers have a good time. New Year’s Eve fell on a Friday, which meant the place was even more packed than usual.

Amanda had joined them, which was why she and MacLeod were over in the corner swapping tales over wine. It was nice seeing the crazy thief again, even if Joe did usually disapprove of her chosen pastimes. He had heard she was running around with some former cop on the east coast. Years of dealing with MacLeod’s morals had had a positive influence, it seemed. Unfortunately, Amanda’s influence had not been good for the cop, and he had run off and gotten himself killed.

Ever the pragmatist, Amanda mourned and then moved on. A few years later, here she was, once more gravitating toward MacLeod. These Immortals always did seem to hover around the Highlander.

“You ready for a break yet, Joe?” Adam asked lightly. The old man had been trying to get Joe to relax for the past hour. His legs were sore, but honestly, Joe was worried that if he sat he wouldn’t get up again.

“I’m good, Adam,” Joe grinned and waved off the man’s concern. “Stop worrying so much. Marie and Charlie will be in soon, and you and I can both take a break.”

As if waiting for the words to leave his mouth, the door swung open, and his two most trusted workers walked into the tavern. Adam looked thoroughly smug, damn him.

“Go,” Joe said resignedly. “I’ll be there in a few.”

Adam grinned and tossed his towel on the counter. He would be joining Mac and Amanda, which was where Joe really wanted to be tonight. First, though, he had a business to run and employees to direct. Charlie and Marie were good enough not to need the guidance, but Joe was an old man and a creature of habit. He liked knowing everything was going smoothly before he left them to it.

Sure enough, they were fine. Charlie even tossed him a knowing grin, glancing between Joe and the table where the Immortals sat, an unlikely family. Joe shot him a look, but the truth was he did not mind the kid’s teasing. Charlie probably knew that, but Joe had to do it anyway. He was the old man and the employer after all.

He was two steps from Charlie when his phone rang. Sighing, he pulled out his cell, then grinned at the number.

“Dean!” he greeted. “It’s been awhile!”

It had been. Joe had not heard from the kid in over a month. He had left a message some two weeks back, which Dean had obviously taken his time returning.

 _“Got holed up in Wyoming,”_ Dean explained. _“Damned nurses wouldn’t let me have my phone.”_

“Jeez, kid!” Joe grimaced. “You okay?”

 _“Nothing a couple beers won’t fix,”_ Dean replied easily. _“You got room for one more at your party?”_

Startled, Joe whirled, nearly toppling himself in the process. Grabbing the counter for balance, he searched the crowd. It was easy to spot the kid—Dean was taller than half the people in there—and he was waving from where he stood by the door.

Joe laughed and hung up. There was no point in trying to reply to Dean while the kid was holding his phone in the air like that after all. They met halfway across the floor, Joe immediately grabbing Dean’s hand and shaking it vigorously. Dean winced a little but managed to smile and squeeze his hand warmly.

“You look like crap, kid,” Joe said frankly. The boy really did. There was an old bruise on his temple that, from the ugly yellow cast to it, must have been a bad one. His left arm was immobilized in a sling, and he was definitely favoring the left leg. He did not look so bad from the right—a little pale maybe—but the left side of him looked like it had collided with something very hard.

“Lost a battle with a tree,” Dean said, shrugging his good shoulder like he didn’t care. “Broke out of the hospital a couple days ago when they started tossing around words like _physical therapy_.” He offered a goofy grin. “How about that beer?”

“You’re not on any meds are you?” Joe asked suspiciously, because he honestly would not put it past the kid.

“I’m not stupid, Joe,” Dean retorted. “Hey! Is that Adam?”

“I’ll have Charlie bring us some drinks,” Joe muttered. This kid was going to be the end of him.

By the time he reached the table, Dean was seated between Adam and MacLeod, the latter of whom looked extremely disturbed. Amanda looked far too intrigued and was already in full flirt mode. That eyelash flutter usually had men flushing and tripping all over themselves to get in her good graces. Joe was willing to bet Dean rarely had to work hard to get a girl to notice him if that knowing grin was any indication.

“…a friend of Duncan’s then?” he heard Amanda finish asking as he approached. There was already a chair waiting for him, and Joe settled between the crazy woman and Adam.

“He and Adam helped me out some a couple years back,” Dean said. He glanced up at Joe. “Old man over there played babysitter for me and my brother back when we were snot-nosed brats.”

“You’re still a brat,” Adam said fondly.

“Yeah, but you love me anyway,” Dean laughed. His eyes lit up when Charlie arrived with a tray filled with amber-filled glasses. “Joe! You’re my hero! Do you have any idea what it was like being stuck in a bed for two weeks? Those nurses are like freakin’ prison guards.”

“I’m sure they were just doing their best to keep your sorry butt alive,” Joe said with an incredulous shake of his head.

“What got you this time?” Adam asked mildly. He had already laid claim to his drink, though not as quickly as Dean had his.

“Manticore,” Dean said. He considered his drink, which was drained past the halfway point. “Freaky ass thing, shouldn’t even be in this country, but there it was. Middle of nowhere, Wyoming.”

Adam lifted his eyebrows but didn’t say anything. Joe caught Amanda leaning over and whispering, “ _Manticore?_ ” to Mac, but the Highlander just quieted her with a promise to explain things later.

“It still in Wyoming?” Joe asked warily. He was not sure what a manticore was, but he knew he would be looking it up as soon as he had the opportunity. Dean looked like he was insulted by the question.

“No way!” Dean protested. “I don’t leave a job unfinished. I iced that sucker!”

“Was this before or after your battle with a tree?” Adam asked wryly.

“After,” Dean looked a bit sheepish at that. “Got a root through the leg for my trouble, too. It’s the only reason I had to be in the hospital. Blood loss and all. Dad took care of burning the bastard after that.”

“Dad?” Amanda asked, and there was an oily sound to the question that had Mac and Adam glaring at her. She blinked, taken aback, and adjusted her line of questioning. “Will your, um… _father_ be joining us tonight too?”

Dean shot Adam a look, and the question was there clear as day though he did not say it: _Is this woman for real?_ Still, he was polite, smiling and shaking his head.

“Dad’s off on another job,” he said. “If he shows up, it’ll only be because he’s pissed I left the hospital without waiting for his say-so.”

Amanda, of course, could not hold her tongue. Her next question was directed at MacLeod.

“Does he know?” she demanded.

MacLeod caught Dean’s nonplussed frown and smiled reassuringly before lowering his voice and responding to Amanda.

“Dean knows we’re Immortal,” he said. “Methos was shot in front of him.”

“Damn head shots are a bitch,” Adam grumbled. “Not that we’re unhappy to see you, kid, but what are you doing here?”

Dean shot him a roguish grin.

“Still pissed about that ghost that tried to skewer you?” he teased.

“ _Did_ skewer me,” Adam corrected. “But that’s not why I’m asking.”

The beer was gone, and MacLeod, still sipping at his wine, slid his over to Dean. The kid shot him a skeptical glance but accepted the drink and swallowed enough that Joe figured he would be thoroughly drunk before the night was up.

“Don’t worry,” Dean said finally. “I didn’t come here chasing any crazy supernatural bad guys this time.”

And Joe released a breath because, honestly, that had been his concern as well. After all, Dean seemed only to show up when trouble was in town. He was a hunter. He _chased_ trouble. Like a storm chaser, only twice as crazy.

“I’d be stupid to pick up a case when I can barely move,” he said. “Actually, I was sitting in that damned hospital bed, bored out of my mind, and I remembered some old guy calling me around this time last year. So I thought, why not? Beats spending the night with Grey’s Anatomy.”

“I like this kid,” Amanda announced then. “He’s cute.”

“You’re not too hard to look at either, sweetheart,” Dean shot back. “Which century were you born in?”

“Ninth,” Amanda retorted. “Does that bother you?”

“You look damn good for your age,” Dean replied quickly, though he seemed a bit shell-shocked. Joe could not recall MacLeod or Adam ever slapping Dean with a number like that, and he had to wonder if Dean had ever really realized what Immortality meant. “Ninth. Seriously?”

Adam smirked behind his beer. MacLeod sighed and shook his head. Amanda smiled and sipped her wine.

Joe chuckled.

“Welcome to the family, kid.”

Dean shook his head dazedly. He drank the rest of his beer.

“You think I could get something to eat?” he asked abruptly. “I’m starving.”

Laughing outright, Joe waved Charlie over.

* * *

October 2005

 

It was another short call. Most of them had been short lately, Dean being too busy to take many calls. Joe figured he should take what he could get from a kid barely over twenty-five. The fact that the kid was keeping in steady contact with an old coot like him was amazing in and of itself. When that kid was Dean Winchester, it was, quite frankly, a miracle.

He took what he could get. It did not make him any less worried when the call lasted only a few seconds.

“Dean! How’s it going, kid?” he greeted as he usually did when the phone display read Dean’s number.

_“Hey, Joe. Have you heard from my Dad lately?”_

Straight to business.

“Kid, I haven’t talked to your daddy since the first time I met him,” Joe said, startled at the question. He thought Dean knew that.

_“Sorry. I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later, okay?”_

“Yeah,” Joe was confused, to say the least, but he was not going to press when there was that kind of worry in Dean’s voice.

_“Later, Joe.”_

It would be another three months before he heard from Dean.

* * *

 

May 2007

 

The past year and a half had been kind of rough on Joe’s favorite Hunter. (Okay, so he really only knew one, but that was hardly the point.) He hated to think it, but ever since Dean had partnered up with his brother, his life had gone straight down the pot. His calls became fewer, more time passing from one to the next. Joe found himself noting a month had passed without word. He forced himself to call, knowing he might not like what he would hear but that Dean would push through the conversation with forced cheer.

Like the time he called to reassure Joe that if or when he came upon any news of the notorious Dean Winchester that he should disregard any and all references to serial killing. It was totally a shapeshifter that just happened to _look_ like Dean, down to the fingerprints.

Or the time he called and the kid was apparently dying of heart failure. Sam had arrived, and Dean promised Joe he’d call back later. That call had come almost a month later, and Dean was fine, not panicking at all as he should have been.

He had not died, then.

Joe called once to hear John in the background, and Dean had been curt, muttering something about vampires not being extinct after all and that he had to go, he would call back.

It had been Joe who had broken the radio silence that fell after _that_ particular one. The conversation that followed had been cold and short, but Joe found it difficult to be insulted when Dean admitted that his father was dead, killed by the very demon who had killed his mother. That call had ended rather violently for the phone from what Joe could tell. Dean had not hung up before attacking the device.

Dean called back a week later with a new phone, same number, and an apology. He was fine, Sam was fine, and no there was not a formal funeral.

There were a couple strained but generally friendly calls after that. One time Dean even called merely to rant that people kept mistaking him and his brother for a homosexual couple.

_“I mean, do I look gay? Sam kind of does, but come on!”_

Joe had laughed and reassured Dean that he did not _look gay_. Things generally perked up after that, but there was always a curtness about the boy. He was stressed, worried about something, and he wasn’t sharing. Not that Joe really expected it. The kid was pretty tight lipped. It had taken a lot of prying to get him to admit his daddy died.

And then May rolled around.

Adam actually picked up the call. Joe never approved of the old man taking his calls, and usually he was polite enough to leave the Watcher business alone. After having been outed as an Immortal (coming up with some cock-and-bull first death scenario), Adam agreed not to be an annoyance to them, and they agreed to be subtle about their watching attempts. The bastard still gave his watcher the runaround most of the time.

That night was a gloomy one—but most of them were in Washington—and Joe had been in his office when his cell rang out front. Monday nights usually meant an empty tavern (Joe didn’t open Mondays or Tuesdays), but Adam had invited himself over for drinks. The old Immortal found the phone and answered cheerfully.

“Hey, Dean!” Joe heard the man greet. “How’s—”

Then came the one-sided conversation from Hell. Joe lurched to his feet when he heard Adam’s gentle, “Hold on a minute. Take a breath and calm down, kid. What happened?”

By the time Joe reached the front, Adam was rubbing his eyes and shaking his head, his face a mask of empathetic pain.

“No… Dean, _no_. It’s…” Adam flinched. Joe could not hear the words, but Dean’s hysteria came through quite clearly. “Dean, listen to me. He’s not Immortal.”

Joe had seen Adam sad before, but he could not recall ever seeing that expression of helplessness. The old Immortal was trying to talk Dean down, but the boy was apparently not really listening.

“Yes, I know I haven’t actually met him, but I know,” Adam said insistently. “How? Well, he has a known biological mother and father for one… we’re all foundlings, kid—orphans for lack of anything better.”

Joe stopped in front of Adam, searching for an explanation, but Adam was too focused on explaining things to Dean.

“I’m sorry, Dean. Look, I’ll come out there—Dean? Dean!” Adam looked at the phone as though it had somehow betrayed him. “Damn it!”

“What happened?” Joe demanded. Adam looked up, expression grim.

“Dean’s brother is dead.”

* * *

May 2008

 

Like Dean’s bout with heart failure, apparently the severity of Sam’s death was exaggerated. Adam did not like it. Neither did MacLeod. While Joe was happy for Dean that his brother was not, in fact, dead, he had a hard time believing the situation was entirely on the up and up.

“The dead should stay dead, Joe,” Adam said in his usual callous manner. “It’s not natural, and it’s not right.”

“You want to try telling Dean that?” Joe had not really understood the situation well enough to do more than attempt to defend the kid. He liked Dean. Surely his motives were good. Saving his brother’s life. How much better of a motive could one get?

“Methos is right, Joe,” MacLeod had inexplicably agreed with Adam. This happened so rarely that Joe had to do a double-take. “Look, I feel bad, okay? But Dean is going to be Immortal—his lifestyle, it’s going to happen sooner rather than later. His brother is not. He’s going to have to learn how to deal with loss sometime.”

“I just don’t get it,” Joe sighed. “It wasn’t this bad with his father.”

“Parents are supposed to die first,” Adam shrugged. “Besides. It’s not like John was really Dean’s dad.”

“Dean didn’t know that.”

Adam grumbled. He had pressed John to be upfront with Dean about the adoption, but the explanation never came. Now John was dead, and the explanation never would come.

“The point is, he needs to get over this codependence,” MacLeod declared. “Do you think you can get him here?”

The last time Joe had spoken with Dean, the kid had sounded far more subdued than he had expected. He had laughed, but the sound held no humor, and promised that the reports of the wicked Winchesters’ deaths were, again, exaggerated. That had been months ago. In fact, Sam’s miraculous recovery from death had been about a year ago. The only reason they were having this discussion right now was because MacLeod had been on Sabbatical (aka meditating on Tibetan holy ground) and had just returned.

“I can try,” Joe said dubiously, already wracking his brain for a believable excuse to get Dean’s ass to Washington.

The phone rang several times, and for a moment Joe thought it would go to voicemail. It had happened before, but that never stopped him from leaving an annoying message. But then someone picked up.

_“Hello?”_

That was not Dean. Joe did not recognize the voice at all.

“Yeah, hey,” he said awkwardly. “Is, uh… Is Dean there?”

_“…Who’s calling?”_

“You can tell him it’s Joe,” he said, a little peevish. Who was this guy, and why was he fielding Dean’s calls? “I need to talk to him. It’s important.”

 _“I’m sorry, Joe, but you can’t talk to him,”_ the guy said quietly. _“He’s dead.”_

“Excuse me?” That had not been the response he had been expecting.

 _“I’m his brother, Sam,”_ the guy explained. _“Dean died a few days ago. I just buried him this morning.”_

“Jeez,” Joe breathed, not sure what to say. “How’d it happen?”

 _“Wild dogs,”_ Sam said, thankfully not offended by Joe’s question.

“Oh my god,” Joe was glad he was sitting. He really needed to be. “Did… did he suffer?”

 _“…Yes, he suffered.”_ Sam was on the verge of breakdown. Joe could hear it in the stutter of his voice. Hell, _he_ was ready to cry.

“And he’s… he’s really dead,” Joe did not know how to take that. Dean was supposed to be Immortal. Or Pre-Immortal. Which then usually led to Immortal. So why wasn’t Dean up and answering his own phone calls? “He didn’t come back… not like you.”

 _“I tried,”_ Sam said heavily. _“They wanted him. They wouldn’t let me take his place. It had to be him.”_

“God… I… I’m so sorry,” Joe swallowed and realized he was crying. Those were tears, just a couple, falling down his cheeks. “I won’t bother you. I’m just… I’m sorry.”

_“Me too.”_

He hung up and looked at the shocked faces of the two Immortal men in front of him.

“That’s impossible,” MacLeod protested.

“Dean works with the impossible every day,” Adam said dubiously. “Maybe… Joe, did you find out where he was buried?”

“He would have been up by now,” Joe shook his head. “And Sam said they wanted Dean. I wonder who _they_ is referring to.”

“I think I need to call Cassandra,” MacLeod said numbly.

“I think I could use a drink,” Adam claimed.

He and Joe both drank enough to get completely wasted that night. Well, Joe did. Adam’s Immortal metabolism did not allow for ease of intoxication, but that did not mean he did not try.

 

_FIN_


End file.
